


Family Affairs

by ScaryScarecrows



Series: The Autumn Effect [15]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen, Mrs. Richardson is not to be fucked with
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2018-08-31 05:01:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 7,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8565058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScaryScarecrows/pseuds/ScaryScarecrows
Summary: Insanity is a family trait. Jonathan Crane knows this only too well.





	1. Telephone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of these are kind of old. Like this one!

Not once, in any of the hideouts that they'd been in, had a telephone rung. Not one time.

Jonathan Crane and Kitty Richardson, therefore, would be forgiven for the utter confusion when the phone rang. Not once, not twice, but several times. They were even more surprised when the phone turned out to have a working answering machine.

"Kitty Richardson!" a voice shrieked. "I know you're in there! You answer this phone right this minute or I'll come down there myself!"

Kitty cringed. Jonathan blinked.

"How did she get this number?"

"She's my mum, of course she got this number! Oh, god…what do I tell her? Maybe she doesn't know…"

"Obviously she does, or she wouldn't have called."

"Shut up, Jonathan! Oh, Jesus, what do I do? _What do I do!_ " She shook him. He gently pried her off and pointed to the phone.

"If she comes here, bad things might happen."

"We're not gassing my mum!"

"No! The guards. So call her."

"Don't leave me alone."

This was amusing. He settled into the chair they'd stolen-a very squishy chair, thank you very much-from a nearby Ikea. Kitty picked up the phone as though it might bite her and hit the redial. A minute later, the phone went on speaker and her mother picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Mum."

The resulting shriek made Jonathan's head ache.

"Kitty Richardson, where have you _been_! And what in the world have you been doing?"

"Job at Arkham…"

"Don't lie to me! I can read!"

Oh. They were going to be in trouble. He shook himself. He was the Scarecrow! And he was an adult. _And_ she wasn't technically his mother.

"Oh, Kitty." Mrs. Richardson said. "I can't believe you. Was it the soap punishment?"

"Mum…"

"You and your cousin both! What is the matter with you?"

"Cousin?"

"You know that American boy she was dating? She came back to the states with him and got a job as an assassin. Really? And then you go and get involved with this Scarecrow…"

"Mum, it's just Jonathan."

There was dead silence at the other end.

"Jonathan?"

"Yes, Mum."

"Oh, thank god!" What. "Here was me, worried you'd gotten involved with some nut! Are you two eating?"

Well, that was random.

"Yes, Mum. Most of the time."

"You're okay?"

"Yes."

"Is Jonathan with you?"

"Hello, Mrs. Richardson."

"Jonathan, dear, you know you don't have to call me that."

Yes, he did know that, but he never could get his mouth to form anything else.

"Sorry."

"I didn't really want anything." She couldn't be serious. "I was just worried."

"How did you get this number?"

"I'm your mother! I hired someone. A very nice young man. Loves green."

Oh, god. She'd hired Edward? Really? They were going to have a chat with Edward in the near future.

"Okay. Well, we'll try to keep in touch. Bye, Mum."

She hung up and promptly unplugged the phone. Jonathan stared.

"What was that for?"

"I said we'd keep in touch. I meant a postcard."

He could see it now. A postcard of some screaming victim, perhaps with the pair of them looming over it. And on the back: 'Happy holidays!" Yeah. Cheerful.

THE END


	2. Cousins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jill Waters appears in 'Jack and Jill'. No, a crossover doesn't make much sense. BUT YOU CAN'T STOP ME. Also old. Shh.

"Kitty Richardson!"

Jonathan Crane cringed at the shriek from across the street.

"Jill Waters!"

Wait, what?

Two women collided in the middle of the sidewalk, talking much too fast for him to keep up. Then he saw his twin.

Well, almost twin-the man had shaggier hair, and a half-healed scar on his throat, but the resemblance was close enough.

"What are you doing here?"

"Work, you know…Jackson! Come here and meet my cousin. This is Jackson Rippner."

Ouch. Some people were just sadistic.

"This is Jonathan Crane. Jonathan, this is my cousin Jill."

"So it's true, then? That really is you on the news?"

"Yes." What was going on here? Who the hell was this woman? "That thing in Miami…"

"It's all straightened out. No thanks to him." Jill elbowed Jackson in the stomach. "You have no idea how much I had to do…never again."

"What happened?"

"There was a pen. I shut her up. You'd be surprised how much people trust the delivery girl."

Hmm. He would have to keep that in mind for later.

"Well, be careful. The Batman looks nice on TV, but he really isn't."

"Thanks. We have to go and check in. _This_ one will run smoothly. _Right_ , dear?"

Jackson rolled his eyes and dodged the oncoming elbow.

"Good luck. Don't go out at night."

They hugged again and parted ways.

"I told you my cousin was a nut."

"I'm noticing. Thank you for…um…not elbowing me."

"Don't mention it."

THE END


	3. Granny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Old-old-old.

Jonathan Crane didn't like to think about Granny. He hated to admit it, but he was still terrified of her. If anyone could come back as a _Christmas Carol_ ghost, it would be her. He could see her now, looming over him with that heavy cane in her hand, intoning that he was _the devil's child_ , that she _should have left him outside to die_. No, he didn't like to remember her.

She'd left constant reminders, unfortunately. The scars on his body were a testament to her talents, and to this day she haunted his dreams.

_"Devil's spawn, I should have known what you would turn out to be!"_

_"Did you know your mother never even held you?"_

_"I should have left you for dead!"_

Oh, yes. She'd made sure he'd remember her, even though she was long buried in the chapel.

There was one memory that he would have liked to forget, unsure if it was even real. For all he knew, it was wishful thinking or a dream. But it stuck all the same.

He had been very ill as a little boy-pneumonia, if he remembered right. He must have been six or seven, and by the time his teachers noticed that something was really wrong, he been sick for about a week. He had probably assumed that Granny would be furious. He would have been wrong.

The next three weeks were a bit of a blur, but he recalled-or thought he recalled-that she had taken good care of him. She'd read to him from a book of fairy tales and brought him large bowls of homemade chicken soup.

Once he was over the worst of it, she had gone back to the untouchable terror that was Granny Keeney. He never knew if he'd imagined the whole thing or not. He'd survived, though, even though the doctor had been skeptical, so maybe it was real. She had never done it again, though.

He didn't like to think about Granny, and he didn't regret killing her, either. But sometimes he had to wonder what she would have been like if the circumstances were different.

THE END


	4. Mother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Old, but not AS old as the others.

As far as Jonathan was concerned, he'd never had a mother. She had left him with that monster of a grandmother the day he was born and never once so much as called.

Granny hadn't been a very good substitute. She hadn't been a very good grandmother, either. Most grandmothers made cookies or something. Most grandmothers, for that matter, didn't go on scary rants about a fiery hell and lock their grandson in with angry birds.

Kitty's mother may not have known all the details, but he was pretty sure that she knew something. She was always going on about her 'mothering instinct'. He had to admit, she did have a knack for knowing when something was wrong with her daughter. She probably did know something about his grandmother. In any case, she fussed over him the same way she did with Kitty.

"You're sure you're eating enough?"

"Yes, Mrs. Richardson."

"Mary, dear." she corrected. They both knew the correction was pointless. "You're quite sure?"

"Yes."

"All right…" She fussed with his jacket and stepped back to look at him. "I worry about you, that's all."

He liked being worried about, really. It was a very new feeling.

"I'm all right, Mrs. Richardson."

"I know." She patted his arm. You're _absolutely_ sure you're eating enough?"

"Yes."

"Okay…" She straightened his jacket again. "Be careful, sweetie. I don't like you two living in Gotham."

He had nothing to say to that. Mrs. Richardson gave him a hug and went to fuss over her daughter.

THE END


	5. Gerald Crane

Forget moral support-she came along as backup. Playing on construction sites is a dangerous activity, after all. Besides, she doubts that Gerald Crane will be very interested in meeting his oldest son. Especially when said son has…homicidal intentions.

"The security here is terrible."

"It's Gotham. Someone probably set it up so they could rob the place blind later."

"Fine with me, as long as they keep out of my way."

She wonders what caused this sudden desire to meet his parents and decides it's best not to ask.

Gerald Crane is sitting in his makeshift office with a laptop and a cup of black coffee. He's a big man-used to be in the military. He's also oblivious to everything around him. Hm.

"Hello, Father."

"Who the hell are you?"

Jonathan sighs.

"When one is addressed as 'father', it stands to reason that the addresser is the son. Does that make sense?"

Gerald frowns.

"Look, kid, the security in here-"

"Isn't turned on. That's Gotham for you." He props himself against the desk. She stays a little ways behind him.

They have no family resemblance, none at all. Hopefully this is the right guy…god, that'd be so awkward…he'd have to be gotten rid of, just in case.

"So. Gerald Crane. What brings you all the way to Gotham city?"

"I don't know who the hell you are…"

"Don't tell me you've forgotten Karen Keeney?" The computer whines and shuts down. "You got her pregnant and left town right after the baby was born. Surely you didn't think she'd kept it." His voice is bitter. "Such a spindly little spider."

"Dear god."

"Oh, you remember! Congratulations, dear Dad."

"I…"

"She left me with her grandmother. I'll spare you the details."

There's the crash of breaking glass-he's dropped his coffee. Pity.

"Who the hell are you?"

"So you didn't keep in touch with her? Can't say I blame you. Granny named me Jonathan. I've been in the headlines recently-you might know me better as the Scarecrow."

Gerald makes a low noise like a kicked dog. She can't blame him, really. It's his own fault, this is true, but people never believe in consequences. At least he's not putting up a fight.

Jonathan pulls out the duct tape and _now_ Gerald realizes exactly how much trouble he's in. He goes to get up and she goes to help pin his ass down.

It takes both of them to tape him to his swivel chair, and even then he's yelling and swearing and rocking the thing back and forth. He'll stop that soon enough.

They push the chair into the elevator and go up to the top. She's a little dizzy up here-thank god for the handrail, crappy though it may be. Jonathan positions the chair at the edge of the beam and sure enough, the rocking stops.

"That's better. A little fresh air never hurt anyone."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Jonathan doesn't bother with an answer. He's too busy filling his syringe.

"Did you ever read those news articles, Father?" Gerald's eyes lock on the needle. "Then you know what this is. Good. Don't squirm, please-we wouldn't want that chair to topple, would we?"

Everyone watches the liquid enter his wrist and then Jonathan steps back.

"Your military records state that you suffered entomophobia-fear of insects. Tell me, Father…" Gerald's beginning to sweat and whine. "Does that fear still persist?"

He's trying not to squirm, but she can see him twitching his foot-probably trying to dislodge imaginary insects.

"I'd love to stay, but I'm not really in the mood to go back to Arkham right now. If you ever get out of this, come visit and we'll have a nice chat."

He turns around and begins to walk away. Gerald begins to scream.

"You're just leaving him there?"

"What am I supposed to do, push him off?"

She's surprised he didn't, actually.

"I don't know."

"That was…therapeutic."

They're in the elevator-ahh, safety!-when something falls past, shrieking.

"I did tell him not to squirm."

THE END


	6. Questions and Answers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to get rid of her before, but Batman had to be a busybody. No matter. She's dead now. It's only fair, really-she left me for dead, after all. Call it an eye for an eye.-Crane

The men grab her off the street one evening-her last night in Gotham.

She's shoved into a small room. It's poorly lit, but she can see that she's not alone. A man in a scarecrow mask is standing in front of her, looking at a picture on the wall behind her.

"Hi."

"Jonathan…"

"No. Scarecrow."

Scarecrow? Is there a difference between the two?

She says nothing and the masked man closes the distance between them, keeping just out of her reach.

"Jonny-boy isn't here right now. You get me instead."

"I…"

"I should just break your neck." he says easily. "But that's too quick for my liking. Besides, I'm just here to chat. Jon would be so upset if I robbed him of his revenge."

"Revenge?" She steps back. He steps forward and soon enough, her back is against the doorknob. "Who are…"

He cocks his head.

"How are you related, I wonder?" He chuckles. "Never mind. I'll put him on now. Play nicely. **_Or I'll come back._** " He brushes his hand across her throat and she shudders.

The man steps back and pulls the mask off.

"Hello, Mother."

"Jonathan."

"I see you met Scarecrow."

"I…"

"You had some questions the last time we met." He doesn't sound particularly interested. "Can you remember them, or is that too much mental effort?"

"Why?" She swallows. "Why did you come after me?"

He shrugs and turns away from her, tossing the mask onto the desk against the far wall.

"You left me with her. You should know. Next."

All the questions she wanted to ask him-why did he do things like this? what did she do to him?-leave and she closes her eyes, trying not to cry.

 ** _"He said next."_** a voice growls. A hand grabs her throat and squeezes hard enough to make her cough. Then she's free, wheezing and feeling bruises forming. "Sorry about him. He's a little…overprotective."

"I don't know." she whimpers. "I'm sorry, Jonathan, I just…"

She tries to hug him, hoping that will get through to him that she's _sorry_ , and he pushes her off. She falls back, the doorknob jamming against her spine.

"If that's all you wanted, I have a question of my own." She looks up at him. He looks exhausted now, but his eyes are cold. She can't see the boy from the photograph anymore.

He kneels beside her and for a moment she thinks he'll help her up. But no, he only forces her head back and inserts a needle into her neck.

"What do you fear, Mother? What boogey man hides under your bed?"

"Oh, god…"

"Go ahead. Ask God to help you." A cruel smirk flickers across his face. "He _never_ helped me." He pats her cheek and stands up as the room begins to twist around him. "Happy Mother's Day."

A snake slithers out of the wall and curls around her forearm. Then she begins to scream.

THE END


	7. Neighbors

Mary Richardson's mum-sense is tingling.

Call it intuition, but something is wrong over there. School troubles or not, no child should have fresh bruises over _the holidays_. And there's always random bursts of shouting-only ever Mrs. Keeney, funnily enough.

There was one of those shouting matches earlier this morning, not long after Kitty and her father left for a trip to town. Everything went quiet a little bit ago, though, and she forgot about it.

There's a knock on the door.

It turns out to be Jonathan.

"M-Mrs. Richardson?"

"Mary, dear." she corrects. It's out of habit-he never listens. "What is it?"

"Could I borrow some ice? Please?"

Ice? What for?

She looks down at his wrist and sees what for. It doesn't look broken, but it's still swollen up like a balloon.

"Of course, dear."

"Thank you."

"Come on in. Kitty's not home-she and her father went out to do the shopping-but I'll get a glass of juice and some ice."

"I-I don't want to be any trouble."

"It's no trouble." She ushers him inside and sits him down at the table. "You sit right there and we'll have a nice snack."

"I…"

"I don't bite, dear." She hands him some ice in a towel and goes to get a couple of muffins and some juice. " _There_ we go. What happened?"

"Thank you." he mumbles. "I tripped. It's nothing."

Tripped, her foot. She doesn't believe that for a minute. Not with all the yelling over there this morning.

She doesn't pry any further. Kitty might know something. She'll ask her later, after dinner, while David's is in the shower.

"Eat up, dear. You're skinny as a rail."

He shrugs. Why is he so jumpy?

A moment later, there's a heavy knock on the door.

"I'll be right back."

"I need to be going…"

"You'll do no such thing."

She gets up and opens the door. Standing on the other side of it is Mrs. Keeney, stooped over that heavy cane.

"Have you seen my grandson?"

Well! No hello, how are you, hot weather we're having…hm.

"No, I haven't seen him. I'll send him your way if I do, though."

She leaves without another word and Mary goes back inside. Jonathan is still huddled at the table, pressing the ice to his wrist.

"Thank you, Mrs. Richardson."

"Mary, dear." She sits down. "If you ever need anything, anything at all, the door is always open. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Ma'm."

"Good boy." She taps the plate. "Eat up. Do you need any aspirin?"

THE END


	8. Sorry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have deviated from the source. I couldn't bring myself to let something happen to him. Lousy Batman… Takes place after the end of Year One. (Therefore, mild spoilers.) Those of you in the dark, all you need to know is that his attempted matricide was foiled by Batman and fear toxin.

Karen isn't sure what to do. She got her daughter to quiet down for the time being, and she asked the…Batman?...if she could have a few minutes with her son, but now…

Now she doesn't know what to say.

He's handcuffed to the radiator along with the woman he came in with. Now that the screaming and flailing has stopped, he's curled up against her like a dead spider, his eyes mostly closed. He isn't asleep-loud noises still make him jump-but he isn't…all there.

"Is it permanent?"

"No. He's had enough accidents that it won't be." She moves a bit and Karen rocks back. What should she do? What is there to say? Nothing, really-he can't understand her anyway. Right?

She reaches out a hand to brush his hair back, pauses, and looks at his companion-Kitty? Is that her name?

"Can I?"

"He's handcuffed to the radiator."

That isn't what she meant.

Her fingers brush against his skin and he draws back as far as possible. She lets her hand fall.

She wishes their first meeting didn't have to be like this. She's thought about him now and again over the years, wondering what he was like, if he took after her or his father.

If he was even alive, or if Granny had taken Mother's suggestion.

"Why?"

She pulls her eyes off him.

"Excuse me?"

"Why did you leave?"

Because Mother made her, threatened to lock them both in the aviary if she didn't.

And because she hadn't been ready to be a mother yet, but she'll keep that tidbit to herself. She feels guilty enough as it is.

"I had to." she says softly, her fingers reaching over and touching his sleeve. He either doesn't notice or doesn't care. Probably the former, but hopefully the latter. "Mother…"

"That's a pretty terrible excuse. I'd have fought my mum tooth and nail over that."

"You didn't know her."

She shrugs again and takes a deep breath. Jonathan murmurs something and Karen withdraws her hand.

He isn't waking and she tucks her hands in her lap, feeling awkward. She almost wishes he would wake up. Just for a moment.

Then again, he hadn't been the picture of joy before.

"Why are you here?"

"He got it into his head to get the family reunions out of the way. I'm just nosey." She grins, but it's shaky and tired.

He coughs and twists a bit, the cuffs clinking gently.

"Jon?" she whispers.

"Jonathan."

"Huh?"

"He hates the nickname."

Oh.

There's too much she doesn't know, too much that she missed. Like the scar on his wrist-although she thinks she knows about that. It looks like one she has on _her_ wrist.

God, she could have lost him. Well, she never really had him to begin with, but he could have died. He'd inhaled a lungful of that gas-whatever it was-and just…panicked. Tried to bolt for the door and been hauled back by her nightmarish savior. There's a steep drop not so very far away, he could have…

Never mind what could have happened.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise to me."

She wasn't. She's not sure who she was apologising to, really.

Jonathan moves again-maybe he's waking up?-and murmurs something that she recognizes as 'Granny'. Even now, after all these years, the word makes her shudder.

"I'm sorry." she says again, and this time she knows who she's apologising to.

"You should be." says a raspy voice. She flinches, her hand flying to her throat, and hears a low laugh. "Scare you, Mother?"

"Jonathan."

"Why are you still here?"

Now that he's awake, it's much harder to look at him. He has Granny's eyes, she sees.

"I…" She takes a deep breath. "I wanted to see you."

He sighs and slumps against the radiator.

"Are you done?"

"I'm sorry."

"I don't believe you." He drops his head against his fellow prisoner. "What happened to my glasses?"

"You shook them off. Bats has them."

He says nothing after that and a few minutes later, he's seemingly asleep.

They sit in silence until the Batman comes in and escorts the two out into the darkness. Karen stands at the doorway, holding her daughter, long after they're gone.

THE END


	9. Grandma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People forget about Crane's grandmother. To be fair, she wasn't mentioned much, but he did kill her. Rather horribly, actually. (You know, maybe he does need help…) Anyway, I deviated a bit from the comic again. At this point, he doesn't want to get Batman's attention. He's gotten it and didn't like it.

Marion Keeney-now Gotham socialite Olivia Dove-was not expecting to be plucked from her party, gagged, and brought to a rather dingy apartment building in the Narrows. Oh, god, she was to be held for ransom…perhaps she should have stayed in Georgia, after all.

She was escorted through dark hallways by two fairly sturdy escorts, one of whom was missing an eye. The gag tasted rusty and stale and it was slightly damp from sapping the moisture from her mouth.

A door was opened and she was greeted by a flickering light, caused by several candles. Sitting in an armchair at the far side of the room was a pale, thin man, his eyes hidden in the shadows. He was slumped to the side a little, his head resting on the chest of a woman sitting on the arm of the chair. Who was this, a crime lord? What could she have done to attract the attention of a crime lord?

_That's stupid, Marion. You have money and they know it._

The gag was removed and she sucked in air and wiped the drool from her face. The man raised his head a bit, his eyes still hidden, and a small smirk flitted across his face.

"Hello, Grandmother."

She had no grandson! She had no grandchildren at all, as far as she knew.

"Who are you?"

The man snorted.

"Kitty, it seems that every single relative of mine is an idiot."

"They haven't seen you in years. Be nice."

He lay his head back down and beckoned Marion over with one long finger.

"You look like Granny." he said.

 _Granny_ …Mother…

Karen's little boy, the one that was supposed to…

 _"_ _Such a spindly little spider…"_

"You were a little worse, allegedly. I find that hard to believe." He laughed, but it was a mechanical sound. "Although, you _were_ the one who suggested to…"

 _"_ _Bury it mother, out there in your aviary…"_

"God."

"In a way."

Now she could see his eyes-a cold blue behind rimless glasses. Mother's unblinking stare.

"You aren't going to leave this room alive." he said, slowly sitting up. He seemed to be rousing himself, becoming more awake at the prospect of her demise. "You know that, don't you, Grandmother?"

"I…"

"It was a bit of work tracking you down." he continued. "I had to call in a few favors…Olivia Dove. I never would have thought…we met once before, I seem to recall. At an Arkham function."

She had a vague recollection of the young director with blue eyes and a soft voice, but she'd never dreamed…

"But never mind all that. This is a momentous occasion! It isn't every day you meet your long-lost relatives. Although it's seemed that way lately…"

He stood up and crossed the room in three long strides. He took after Mother-even now, after all these years, she recognized that determined step that said _somebody_ was in trouble.

"Jonathan…"

"She wrote to you? Heaven knows why." He put his hands on her shoulders. She wanted to push him back, but she was too petrified to blink, let alone struggle. "It's a shame we had to meet in a place like this, but I couldn't risk bringing the Batman down on my head."

He released her and turned away, picking up something from a table. Marion registered that the woman had slipped a gas mask over her face, but what on earth…

Jonathan turned back and she gasped. That thin, cold face

_Mother's face_

was hidden behind a burlap mask with a terrible frown-or was it a maniacal grin?-stitched onto it.

"What are you afraid of, Grandmother?" he asked, his voice muffled by the mask. "Let's find out, shall we?"

And he raised his arm. There was a _click_ and a puff of white emerged from his sleeve and drifted into her face. The gas was bitter and stung her eyes.

Coughing, struggling for air, she slumped down,

_Hot air rises hot air rises_

seeking fresh air. The bitter taste came with her and she gagged.

There was the sound of a seagull from the rafters. Seagull? In here?

She looked up. Yes. There was a gull there. Strange that she hadn't noticed it before…why was it looking at her like that? And when had it gotten friends?

"Gulls…"

There was a low chuckle from her left, but she didn't turn and look. Gulls were big birds, and there were so many of them, looking at her as though she had blundered into their territory…

One of them swooped down and she tried to protect her face. She ended up getting her head pecked instead.

Then they all came down, screaming and attacking her face and hands. She could feel their beaks tearing into her flesh and ripping her hair out by the roots. They tore deep furrows in her cheeks despite her best efforts to bat them away.

Within five minutes, Marion Keeney had been torn to shreds.

THE END


	10. Karen Keeney

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Immediate prequel to 'Sorry'. In Year One, Jonathan's mum kisses the Batman. Really. She doesn't start crying, go comfort her crying baby, faint…no. She kisses Batman. Oh, my. Slight deviations from the source have been made

She said she'd gone for moral support. It was partly true. But she'd mostly gone along because she was nosey and because she knew he would never speak of this again afterwards. She had to see. Did he look like her? He might-he hadn't looked like his father. What was she like? Kitty had initially had the idea that she was a complete bitch, and probably an idiot

_Can you say 'birth control'? Or would you rather say 'grow the fuck up and take responsibility'?_

but who knew, really? He had to get his intelligence somewhere. Maybe they'd told her he was stillborn or something. Marion Keeney-better known as the late Olivia Dove-had certainly seemed the type. Jonathan had told her that his Granny had told him that Marion had suggested burying him out in the aviary. Even to her, that was just cold.

Okay, and she was curious to see if Granny Keeney had sent baby pictures or something. Preferably the really horrible ones involving bearskin rugs. They would be nice payback for his snickering at the one of her, at about six months, gnawing the dog's tail. (Eww…how had that made sense?)

Karen Keeney-or whatever her name was, maybe she'd married again-lived in Georgia, not so very far from Arlen. So close and she couldn't have visited? Maybe she was a stupid bitch, after all.

She wasn't not quite sure how he tracked her down. All she knew is that he got a laptop from somewhere and spent a lot of time on the internet.

No matter. He found her and now here they were, outside a run-down house with a weedy yard and the sounds of shouting and a screaming baby coming from inside. She could feel a headache coming on.

"Ready?"

"Maybe she's not home."

"Then we wait for her."

"Maybe this is the wrong address."

"No, I'm pretty sure this is it."

"Are you _positive_?"

Was he…nervous? Wow. She hadn't seen him nervous-really and truly nervous-for a while.

"I'm positive. Come on, I'm right behind you."

She wouldn't have missed this for the world.

He knocked on the door and had time to straighten his mask before it was opened by a big, balding man missing a few teeth. Oh, _nice_. A real winner, this one.

"We don't want any."

"Does Karen Keeney live here?"

He stopped, studied them, and hollered over his shoulder, "Karen! This the kid you've been fucking?"

Well. This was…interesting.

"I think you've gotten me confused with someone else." Jonathan said quietly. "May we come in?"

"No. Get lost."

He sighed, turned as if to leave, and suddenly spun back around. There was a _click_ and a soft _hisssss_ and the man staggered back, shrieking about tax collectors. Now _there_ was a fear she could get behind! Little vampires.

The baby's crying reached a crescendo and she rubbed her nose. How could something so small make so much noise?

Well, she couldn't hear a damn thing over this big lump's wailing. She cut off a piece of duct tape, stuck it over his mouth, and got round to tying him up proper. If he thrashed too much, or made too much noise, she had other ways of silencing him. Messier ways, this was true, but no matter.

She tugged her gas mask down to hang around her neck, finished duct taping the man's feet together, and retreated to stand by the door. This should be interesting.

Jonathan had taken his mask off and replaced his glasses. He hadn't spoken. Karen Keeney-or whatever her name was now, if she was married to this ogre-huddled against the far wall, cradling one arm against her chest.

She looked like her son-same features, same eyes. She was a little overweight now-having kids would do that to you-but she had once been pretty.

Kitty was not impressed.

"Who are you?"

Jonathan cocked his head to the side, paused, and turned instead to the pink blob in the crib.

"Be quiet."

The child silenced. It was a shame, really, that they didn't like children. Theirs would probably be very well-behaved.

"I suppose what they say about mothers knowing their children is a falsity, then." He forced a laugh. "Hello, Mother."

The blank look didn't leave her face and Kitty rolled her eyes. How many kids had she had, then?

"Not ringing a bell?" He leaned against the wall. "Think hard. Back to…oh, it must've been high school. Gerald Crane?"

"Mother of God…"

"Ah, remember now?"

"What on…"

The baby started crying again and he grimaced.

"How long were you planning on keeping this one?"

"I had no choice, believe me…"

He snorted and peeled himself from the wall.

"I do." Liar. She knew that tone. "But I don't forgive you."

"Please…"

He was in the middle of preparing a needle when the window shattered and a familiar black shape knocked him to the floor.

Fuck.

 _Every_ damn time! What was it with him and his save-the-innocents compulsion? Had he lost his parents at a young age? Or was he just one of those misguided assholes that had anger problems and tried to be useful with them?

Never mind…

She yanked the gun out of its makeshift holster and fired. She missed and broke a window. Oops.

"Not helping!"

"Shut up!"

The second shot whizzed over Batman's head. Dammit! Wait.

"One move and I'll shoot him!" She kicked the still-shuddering form at her feet. "Back off and mind your own business, Bats."

He gave her a scathing look. Too bad. They came all the way out here-in the middle of summer, no less-and she didn't relish coming back.

Well? What was he waiting for…oh.

Oh, _shit._

When Batman had knocked him over, he'd managed to inject himself with his own needle.

"Jonathan…"

"Get off me!"

That was new.

"No, please…hallucination, it's a hallucination…"

That had never worked before.

Before she could get to him to restrain him, he took off-sprinting out the door and into the darkness like the devil was on his heels. She was about to give chase when Batman fired his grappler at her, pinning her arms to her sides and making her fall over. Then he, too, vanished into the night.

Well. This was awkward.

Karen Keeney struggled up from the wall and went to pick up the screaming baby. It shut up once it was in its mother's arms. Ahh, relief.

The room was silent apart from Karen's cooing and the baby's gurgles, and several minutes later Batman stomped back in, dragging a now-barely-conscious Jonathan behind him.

"I hope I didn't frighten you." This was addressed to Karen, who put the baby down and crossed her arms.

"Frightened? Me?"

Before Kitty could make sense of anything, she'd jumped into Batman's arms and planted a wet kiss on him. It was a shame she couldn't see his expression-it was probably golden.

She'd probably keep this to herself, though.

"Not a bit."

"Yes. Well." He cleared his throat and crossed the room. "Come along, you."

"Bite me." she snapped. That earned her another Death Glare and he reached down to grab her ankle. Thank god she'd worn pants.

THE END


	11. Mum

He comes out of the feverish fog to find himself in a semi-familiar room. He knows where he is, just give him a minute…

"Hey, sweetie."

That's right. They came down for Christmas because Mrs. Richardson threatened to come up there if they didn't. As funny as it would be to see her lecture the Batman, that was out of the question.

"M-Mrs. Richardson?"

"Mary, dear." He ignores that. "How are you feeling?"

"What happened?"

"You have a winter cold. Nothing serious."

Oh. That explains things. But where's Kitty? This is a little unusual…

"Um…"

"She's downstairs, helping her dad with supper." She sticks a thermometer in his mouth. "I'll bring you up a tray if you're up to it."

"I can come down…"

"Be quiet, you'll upset the reading."

He manages to rein in a coughing fit until the thermometer is gone. Mrs. Richardson fusses with his blankets and rubs his head.

"Poor lamb."

_Lamb?_

"M-Mrs. Richardson…"

"Shh. Go back to sleep. I'll bring you up something to eat later."

Once he's certain she's downstairs, he gets out of bed and pulls his robe on. His mouth feels furry-he needs a drink.

He's halfway down the hall when a horrifying screech comes from the foot of the stairs.

"Jonathan Crane, march yourself back to bed right now!"

The water really isn't worth it, after all.

THE END


	12. Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I doubt he'd come anywhere close to this while he was lucid, but he won't remember. I'm certainly not about to tell him. (Which means you all have to shut up!) Takes place right before 'Mum'.

Mary wonders, sometimes, what happened in the abandoned mansion across the way all those years ago.

She knows some of it-enough, anyway-but there's things she can't explain-old scars with no realistic explanation, for instance, or whispered pleas for mercy, brought out by delirium.

"Hush now, sweetheart." she soothes, trying-and failing-once again to get him to take a drink. He pulls his head away. "You're all right, she can't hurt you now."

He looks at her, his eyes glassy. He looks awful.

That's why they're here. Well, that and it's Christmas.

"Can you take a drink?" He shakes his head. "All right. Go on back to sleep."

"M'kay, Mom." he mumbles. She represses a little smile and decides not to mention this later.

THE END


	13. Evidence of Happier Times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This jives with no timelines or canons whatsoever, but I do not care, so here you go.

Between Arkham and Gotham University, Karen’s quest to piece together what made her son…this…isn’t going half-bad. Granted, she got some funny looks, but she came out of it with pictures and a grainy video courtesy of Harleen Quinzel (nice girl, batshit insane, but nice). Harleen won’t say who took the video, just that it’s ‘an old one from the Doc and Kitty were all young and precious and ya know, he looks like ya, are ya related?’

Karen had stammered some lies about that one, but she doubts the girl bought them.

She’s afraid of the video, a little, worried it could be a snuff tape or something equally horrible, and she starts with the photographs. Most of them are serious-yearbook, staff photo-and there’s one that’s half-casual that _has_ to be from college because _god_ , he looks so _young_. He looks tired, though, and a little ill. Too thin. He’s not wearing his glasses, either, and he’s sprawled out on a too-small couch with one arm hanging off onto the floor. Whoever took the picture must have been a friend, once, because he’s looking at the camera with an expression of exasperated fondness.

She finally braves the video after several glasses of whiskey, stuffing it into the VCR in her cheap hotel room and hitting play before she can back out. She’s braced for the worst, but what comes up instead is a grainy video that picks up mid-sentence.

“-god, Eddie, _why?_ ”

“I made it! Sort of.”

She doesn’t know that voice but she doesn’t care, that’s her son, looking younger and more relaxed than he had in most of those photographs. More casual, too-he’s wearing jeans and a navy sweater and his hair’s got strands out of place. The girl on his lap is familiar, but it takes Karen a minute to recognize her as the woman that had been there that night. She’s got a glass in her hand and her red skirt’s draped over his knees. She’s grinning and her other hand is thrown loosely around Jonathan’s neck in the age-old _step off, this one’s mine._ Karen doubts it matters-Jonathan’s not looking at the camera, he’s looking at her and running his finger over the hem of her sweater.

The camera moves towards an older boy, more man than the others. Better dressed, too, in slacks and a button-up that’s undone at the throat. She wants to say she’s seen him somewhere before-he’s too birdy (god, that came out bitchy, but it’s true) to mistake.

“Say hi, Oswald.” The voice is cheerful and the camera wobbles a bit before steadying. “Wave to the birdy.”

“Edward, why do you have that…that…monstrosity? And does it even work?”

“The green light says it’s working! Now come on, it’s Christmas, be merry.”

The older boy-Oswald-snorts and raises a glass.

“Fuck off, dear friend.”

There’s silence and then the girl bursts into giggles.

“My god, you said a swear. Bless that camera, we’ve got proof.”

The camera tilts back. The girl is still giggling, one hand still clutching her glass and the other now gripping Jonathan’s shirt. Jonathan’s smirking a bit, but he’s still looking up at her rather than Oswald.

“Kitty, how drunk are you?”

“Shut up, I am perfectly…perfectly sober.”

The smirk widens into a grin.

“You’re the worst liar I know, and being drunk is not helping.”

Oswald snickers and the boy behind the camera laughs.

“Jon’s got a point, Kitty.”

“Fuck off, Eddie.” she says at the same time Jonathan says, “Don’t call me Jon.”

“M’too drunk for more syllables.”

“Get a shot of the decorations, then, if you can do it without falling down.”

The camera turns, wobbly, to point at a single red candle next to a PEZ Santa.

“This is the tragic excuse for decorations. Look at this and weep.”

“We’re moving out in another week, be grateful the couch is still available.”

The camera goes back. Oswald is now seated on the other end of the sofa. Jonathan’s moved so he’s slouched a bit more, his free hand curled loosely around Kitty’s lower back.

This hurts. This hurts because it’s so _normal_ ; there’s hardly any trace of the stranger who had showed up at her door that night. It’s Christmas and there’s people over and he’s looking at that girl like he’s found God.

“Tell me you two aren’t going to turn this into some sort of terrible romance film.” Oswald says primly. “There are other people in this room, thank you very much.”

“How would you know what those are like, if they’re so terrible?” Kitty says, leaning backwards to look at him. Karen’s pretty sure she doesn’t topple off only because Jonathan’s got his hand there. “And you can’t use your mother as an excuse, we all know she wouldn’t touch them with a ten-foot-pole.”

“Well, actually, they’re his guilty pleasure-”

“Edward, I will murder you if you speak further.”

Jonathan laughs at that one, the shaky laugh of someone who’s had more to drink than they’ll admit.

“I’ll help you hide the body, Oswald. Or transport it to the river, at least.”

“You’re terrible at friendships.” Edward sounds reproachful. “Did you know that?”

Karen shudders and wonders if Edward is now dead.

Kitty sways a bit and Jonathan moves his hand to steady her.

“I told you you were drunk.”

“I am not, and I’ll prove it.” She sets her glass down, cracks her knuckles and grips his shirt.

“Kitty, I could still be contag-”

She kisses him. The camera swings over to Oswald, who is staring resolutely somewhere off-screen.

“Wonderful weather.”

“Indeed.”

“Sober people can’t do that.” Kitty says from off-camera. “So there.”

“Kitty.” He sounds a little out of breath. “I don’t know if it’s practice or something else, but you can do that drunk.”

“Oh, come on!”

“I’m not complaining-”

The film cuts off. Karen blinks. That’s how things should have been. Like that, maybe she’d call halfway through and there’d be the joking panic of ‘everybody be quiet, it’s my mother!’

But instead he tried to kill her and her daughter, **did** kill everyone else. And so many others, dear god.

She stirs and knocks a pile of photos off the bed by accident. They fall together-yearbook, staff, and _hey what’s that?_

It’s old, another one dating from college, but it has to be early-he’s _thin_ , still, like he is in his high school pictures, and she’s willing to bet he’s hiding scars under that lose sweater. But he’s laughing, he’s picked up the girl and she’s pushing on his arms and she can imagine him saying, _now, take it now!_

She turns the picture over, curious. The handwriting is unfamiliar but precise: _Jonathan Crane and Kitty Richardson, 1993. Photo credit: Edward Nygma._

She flips the picture back over and brushes her fingertip over his head.

_I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so **sorry**._

She cries herself to sleep.

THE END


End file.
